


Massage Therapy

by snarkyscorp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:10:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When potion pills for Harry's recent injury are making him unbearable as Head Auror, Kingsley hires Healer Malfoy to work out the tension in Harry's muscles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Massage Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hp-didi-fest.livejournal.com/profile)[**hp_didi_fest**](http://hp-didi-fest.livejournal.com/) (DIDI = Disfigurement, Injury, Disability, and Illness btw) as a last minute pinch hit. Some of Harry's character traits reverently borrowed from House MD and the story idea from [](http://kitty-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[**kitty_fic**](http://kitty-fic.livejournal.com/)'s suggestion of a "massage/rubdown" scene. Thanks a billion to [](http://auntypsycho.livejournal.com/profile)[**auntypsycho**](http://auntypsycho.livejournal.com/) for a wonderful beta and Britpick. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

  


  
**Massage Therapy**   


"It's not necessary," Harry insisted, leaning on the hard wood of his walking stick for support. The longer he argued with Kingsley, the harder he dug the base of the stick into the carpet of Kingsley's office. "I've been coping with this injury for the past five months, and—"

"And you think you've got it under control," Kingsley retorted coolly, leaning back in his chair. "That you haven't changed at all because of it."

Harry didn't even think about his response. "Yes, I've got it under control and no, I haven't changed." He shifted a bit, leaning further into the stick. "If anything I'm more…balanced this way. Helps me sets my priorities. Helps the pain, which is the point, by the way."

"That's not what the new trainees say." Kingsley held up a piece of parchment from a nearby file and cleared his throat. " _Auror Potter exhibits a short fuse and raging temper on high pain days, which makes working under him a relative nightmare._ That's from Auror Knightly."

One of Harry's hands unconsciously slid to his thigh, rubbing the sore muscles. His agitation didn't make the subtle throb of pain any better. He shrugged. "Knightly is a prick, you know. Purposely mentions my accident every chance he gets, so he's not exactly—"

" _When Auror Potter is in pain, he takes his aggression out on new trainees._ That one is from Lupin."

Harry blanched. "Teddy said that?" With his good leg, he lunged forward. "Let me see."

Kingsley held the parchment back, fixing Harry with a singularly annoyed look. I’ve got notices from McCann, Hunter, and Weasley, too. If you can't get your pain under control, I can't allow you to remain Head Auror for this team."

"And your solution is to fetch me a masseuse?" Harry balked. "Excuse me if we're on separate pages here, but it's just ridiculous."

"My solution is to hire a professional Healer, Harry. Someone who is trained on these kinds of injuries and can see you, one-on-one, five days every week. Someone who, potentially, could take the place of your potion pills."

Harry scoffed. "Ah, now I see where this is headed. You're against the potions—which work and make my pain manageable—and so you want to humiliate me in front of my Aurors. Well, you know what I say to that, Kingsley?" From the pockets of his red robes, Harry pulled out a single bottle, barely the size of his finger, and uncorked the stopper. Tipping it aside, two capsules spilled free into his palm. "Cheers!" He brought them to his mouth and swallowed, stoppered the bottle, and replaced it into his cloak.

Flaunting his stash of potion pills didn't bring Harry much peace now that he'd made his point, but his leg was hurting, and the Mediwizards at St. Mungo's had prescribed the potions, so they were legitimate pain relievers. He knew Kingsley's position though, that they were only a temporary fix to Harry's pain, that eventually he needed to wean himself and continue with physical therapy and let the Healers do their jobs. But if the potions helped, took the pain away completely as long as he kept swallowing them, where was the harm, really? He could do his job, pain-free, and he would heal just the same without having to go through the excruciating process of trying to walk without any of the potion in his system to numb the pain. The warnings of addiction were very clear, and Harry knew he was skirting the line, but he couldn't fathom giving them up now, when he had a department of unruly and boisterous Aurors to deal with.

And while Kingsley, Ron, Hermione, and even Teddy now complained that Harry was addicted, he knew he could stop…if he wanted. Which, frankly, he didn't.

Kingsley leaned forward over his desk and rubbed his temples. "Harry."

"Kingsley."

"I'm going to be as straightforward as I can with you." Kingsley's dull gaze rose to meet his, and Harry felt queasiness settle in his stomach. He knew what was coming. "Either you flush the pills down the nearest toilet and let the Healers take care of you, or you're going to find yourself out of a job here at the Ministry. Is that clear?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes—Kingsley really had no business telling him what medicine he should or shouldn't be taking when it had been _prescribed_ for him for the intense pain, and Kingsley couldn't possibly understand how horrible it was sometimes—Harry glowered down at his worn trainers, gaze sweeping over the rubber stump of his walking stick near his right leg. _This is shit_ , he wanted to shout, but Kingsley was not bluffing, and Harry loved this job more than anything. It was, frankly, all he had at this point, and the mysteries he solved every day, the dark wizard scum he tracked down and sent to Azkaban, made all his regrets, guilt, and pain tolerable. Without it, Harry wasn't sure what he'd do.

"Yeah," Harry finally said, dejected and worn down.

"Good." Kingsley smiled. "Now, go to your office, because the Healer is there waiting for you."

"What—right this second?" Harry glanced behind him, as if he expected to see a Healer standing there in wait.

"I trust you, Harry, but I don't necessarily trust those pills in your system, influencing your judgment. You're liable to hide them somewhere if you don't get help soon. Today." Kingsley made a shooing motion with his hands. "Now, get to your office, have the Healer take a look at your leg, and you'll be good as new in a week, I guarantee it."

Harry grumbled a curse under his breath as he left Kingsley's office, his jaw clenched and his fingers curled in a tight fist along the arch of his walking stick.

~~~

When Harry arrived in his private office, he found a long table already set up and a tall set of blue drawers beside it with various oils, potions, and books laid out. The table was flat except for a hole on one end, which was cushioned, Harry assumed presumably for his face for comfort. The idea of getting up on that table with one sorry excuse for a leg was just one element advancing his anxious misery at the sight of it—the notion that some stranger, even a Healer, was going to be touching him along the gnarled muscles, tendons, and skin that had been ripped and twisted by the accident was a whole separate issue.

Already, Harry felt sweat gathering at the back of his neck, at his palms.

"Hello, Auror Potter."

Harry turned to face the voice and his jaw couldn't have dropped farther if it had been dislocated. He knew that face, very well in fact, because it nearly belonged to Draco Malfoy. Harry knew instantly there was a difference, albeit slight, but it was jarring at the very least.

"I'm Healer Malfoy. You can call me Scorpius if that puts you at ease." Scorpius held out his hand and Harry tentatively shook it. "Don't be nervous, Mr. Potter."

"You can, erm, call me Harry," he replied dumbly, shaking Scorpius' hand until Scorpius had the sense to gingerly disentangle their grips.

"Fantastic, Harry. Well, as you probably know, Minister Kingsley has procured my services. Your accident was well-publicised, and it is quite a shame you haven't made a full recovery, but after Mr. Kingsley informed me of the prescribed potions you're currently taking, I can certainly see why."

"The pills help," Harry argued, tersely.

"That they do." Scorpius moved to the drawers beside the table and began to search the top one, pulling out a few vials as he spoke. He bent over to reach the second drawer, and Harry took that opportunity for what it was worth, raking his gaze along Scorpius' tall, lean body, the lime green Healer's robe tailored to fit his lithe form. When he looked up, Scorpius had pulled a box of long, thin needles out, which was the only reason Harry stopped gaping. "However," Scorpius went on. "The potions are a temporary solution to a very serious problem, and if you don't wean yourself off of them in a timely manner, no amount of medical assistance can save your leg in the future. The healing potions are designed for temporary usage, a few years at most and only in the most serious of cases."

"My case is serious," Harry snapped. "My leg was nearly ripped from the socket by that curse."

Scorpius looked up and offered a reassuring smile, then set a large, warm hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know. But how many pills are you taking every day now, Harry? Four, five? More? Your pain will continue to get worse, and you'll down another half-dozen pills until you're at a bottle a day, then more. At that point, your body either shuts down or you'll overdose and die. Either way, you're heading fast towards committing suicide at the rate you're going. You have three beautiful children, a godson starting a family of his own, friends and family who don't want to watch you die. So if not for yourself, think of them."

Harry was stunned. The small bottle of leftover pills in his pocket suddenly felt as if they were burning a hole through his clothes, as if they weighed a tonne. He was more aware of them than ever before, and the thought of leaving James, Al, or Lily behind because he had stupidly overdosed on pain potions made his head hurt. He wouldn't do that to them. They didn't deserve that, and he was being selfish thinking he couldn't stand a bit of pain if it meant a full recovery in the end.

Scorpius clapped his hands together, startling Harry out of his reverie. "Now. Let's get you undressed and up on the table."

Brows knotted, Harry grimaced. "Undressed?"

"Well, I can't massage you with your Auror robes on, now can I?" Scorpius patted the table. "And don't worry—I've already prepared the table with warming and cushioning spells, for your utmost comfort."

With some reluctance, Harry began to undo the clasps on his robes. Once those were off, he untucked his t-shirt and tugged it over his head, and was that his imagination or did Scorpius just eye him between rearranging the potions in the drawers? No. Certainly his imagination. Not only was Harry more than twice Scorpius' age, but Scorpius wasn't gay and even if he was, why would he be interested in someone like Harry? Battle scars might do it for the pretty witches that constantly tried to buy Harry drinks at the Leaky but they weren't as big a motivation for blokes, Harry'd found. Not to mention, Harry barely had use of one of his legs. Who wanted a crippled old man for a partner?

Finally, Harry stepped out of his trainers, undid his fly, and let his trousers pool at his ankles. None too gracefully, Harry managed to get everything but his black pants and socks off. With his bad leg, little tasks like pulling his trousers off was often difficult. He didn't look to see what Scorpius thought of his injured leg, which was gnarled and pinched in spots, discoloured and spotty from the healing process, and stiff as a brick. Since the accident, Harry hadn't let anybody see it.

When he was done, Scorpius motioned to the table. "Up you go."

"Erm…"

Harry eyed the height of the table warily. There was absolutely no way. If he had full use of both legs, sure, but jumping had been out of the question since the accident. He'd been told explicitly that even with the potion pills, he needed to refrain from jumping or running until he was better.

"Ah, so sorry," Scorpius said. He took out his wand and tapped the table, which lowered down to Harry's shins. "Better?"

"Much, thanks."

Even with the lowered table, Harry had some difficulty rolling himself into position, but he managed, leaving his walking stick to rest against the set of drawers for when he needed it getting up later on. Flat on his stomach, the idea of having Scorpius' hands on him was sounding more and more pleasing by the second. He tested laying his face in the cushioned hole and sighed in contentment as his spine straightened out with a faint crack, the knots created from leaning to one side as he walked easing out one by one.

Without warning, Harry felt pressure on his feet. He was about to ask what was going on when he felt his socks pulled free. He laughed a bit.

"I can at least keep my pants on, right?" he quipped, twisting to look at Scorpius over his shoulder. The look on Scorpius' face was…mouth-watering. His eyes were sort of alight, his lips gently parted, and his fingers lingering on Harry's ankles. Suddenly, he didn't really want to keep his pants on at all.

"Unless you fancy getting more than a massage," Scorpius said quietly. "I'd say you ought to keep them on."

Harry's face burned. Heat spiraled down into his gut, below that to his prick, sending little electric-like sparks through his limbs. He looked at Scorpius, waited to see if he was joking—which, surely, he was—and then had to look away, laying his face down again, so that he wouldn't say something he'd regret when Scorpius admitted he was only teasing. Blokes that good-looking and that young just did not want someone in Harry's position, famous or no. Or they did want him but just for a night and that wasn't usually Harry's style. Dating was hard enough being in the closet; adding the fact that he wanted a serious commitment to that made things nearly impossible.

"Sorry," Scorpius said a moment later. Harry heard some glasses tinkling, the sound of a cork unstopping a bottle, and then Scorpius' hands were on his right calf at the place where the cursed, rotted muscles began. "I am gay, and you're amazingly fit, but I know you're straight, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Very sorry, Harry."

As Scorpius' hands began to sink warmth into Harry's muscles, Harry bit back a groan. Fucking shit, not only was Scorpius gay, but he had just said he thought Harry was fit and now his hands were easing more and more heat into his skin. Unfortunately, the groan Harry suppressed wasn't one of pure pleasure though; the pain of having his bad leg worked on was almost excruciating.

"All right, Harry?"

Harry managed to nod. "Just…I'd be popping another two pills at this point, to be frank."

"Give me a few minutes to get started, and I promise you'll walk away pain-free until we see one another again tomorrow."

"I, erm, trust you."

Scorpius chuckled, digging his fingers in. "That sounds very reassuring."

Scorpius worked up to the back of his knee, and Harry could barely resist shouting. The pain scaled off the charts the higher Scorpius went, and to make matters worse, Harry started to feel the prick of what he could only assume were those needles he'd spotted moments earlier. They sank into his skin, thrummed with a strange current, and then were pulled out and inserted again elsewhere. One of Scorpius' hands was always on him though, kneading the muscles until Harry was panting and sweaty, gripping the table fit to snap it in two as Scorpius reached his upper thigh. He didn't think he could take much more, as the pain was dizzying in its intensity, worse than it had been in months and succeeding in bringing tears to Harry's eyes. The rest of his body was tense and shaking as Scorpius dug his fingers in deeper, rubbing his thumb against the crease of Harry's groin and thigh. Scorpius sank several pins into his flesh, Harry felt them vibrate against his muscles…

And then, just like that, the pain stopped. All the oxygen that seemed to have previously been sucked from the room returned with a gust, Harry's next exhale and inhale like he was gasping for air. Instead of pain, there was pleasure, glorious pleasure, skyrocketing from every nerve ending and sending pulsing heat straight to his cock.

Unable to stop himself, Harry released a low, keening moan as he let his body rest completely against the table, his face against the cushion and more comfortable than he had felt since the accident.

"Better?" Scorpius asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he pulled the needles free. Harry heard them clink into a glass somewhere behind him.

"Yes," Harry panted. "Gods, yes, don't stop."

Scorpius' fingers stilled for a moment, a hesitating touch, before they one again began to work into Harry's skin and muscle, warm and slick and sending Harry into another dimension. It was incredible, so incredible that he didn't give a shit that he was moaning and hot against the cool massage table. Scorpius' fingers were miraculous, easing the tenseness from his muscles and working into them instead a flexibility he hadn't felt since well before the accident.

And the warmth just continued, the pressure of Scorpius' fingertips dangerously close to Harry's balls, which felt heavy and hot too. Harry knew he was getting hard, but he knew too that he'd be damned if he would tell Scorpius to stop—this must happen all the time, to just as strong of men as Harry. How could someone lay there and not feel what Scorpius did down there? It was greater than magic, a connection that Harry hadn't felt in years sizzling through his veins, down to his curling toes.

Harry resisted the urge to grind down into the table, but just barely. And when Scorpius pulled his hands away for even a second too long, Harry groaned at their loss.

"You're not done, are you?" Harry croaked, licking his dry lips to wet them.

The musical laugh that left Scorpius' lips sent a pulse of pleasure down to Harry's groin all over again. "Hardly," Scorpius said.

His hands returned a moment later, this time cool. The scent of mint and jasmine wafted up and Harry clenched his teeth, because it only made him want to lick the scent off Scorpius' every finger. Scorpius' cool touch rubbed along the same path, starting this time at the juncture of thigh and groin and working down, backwards from his previous motions. He kneaded the muscles, gentler this time, and patted and made chopping motions with the flank of his palm a few times at the most tender spots. The cold soon replaced the heat, leaving Harry's skin tingling by the time Scorpius had reached his ankle.

Scorpius pulled away again and Harry felt like screaming. Why couldn't Scorpius keep his damn hands on his body? Why the bloody hell did he have to stop at all? Couldn't he just let Harry lay there while he worked, without pulling away every few minutes? Harry truly thought he might die if Scorpius didn't touch him again.

And then, Scorpius did. This time, his fingers were slicker and carried with them the scent of cloves, cinnamon, and a heady, flowery smell that got right under Harry's skin.

"Ah, Merlin, fuck," Harry growled.

Scorpius hesitated again. "Are you…all right, Harry?"

" _Yes_ ," Harry growled. "Just don't stop. I'm…I'm fine."

"Mmm."

When Scorpius fingers met his skin once more, Harry's brain melted away, his heart soared right out of his chest, and the scent and feel and icy heat sent all the blood in his body to fill his prick. And then Harry couldn't stop himself. He thrust into the table once, then let out a snarl because God, it had been a while, and then thrust again and again and—

Scorpius' hands suddenly forced his hips down. "Harry. You've got to lie still."

"I…can't," Harry complained. The pressure of Scorpius' hands only made his urges stronger. Harry wanted to buck and writhe and have Scorpius stop him, force him still, take care of the problem for him. "It…feels so good, Scorpius."

"I can see that."

Harry about lost his mind when Scorpius' oily palm drew along his balls and then cupped them, fondling their heavy weight as his free hand continued to firmly keep Harry still.

"You're very hard, aren't you?" Scorpius whispered, his breath hovering just above Harry's spine now and delicately raising gooseflesh in its wake. Those dangerous lips brushed his skin, electrifying Harry to the core. "Impossibly hard."

"Yes," Harry groaned. "Yes."

"Someone ought to help you out."

"Merlin, yes."

"Maybe it should be me." Scorpius gently let go and instead gripped Harry's pants with both hands. With one firm tug, he had them down at Harry's thighs and again one hand weighed Harry down while the other slid to hold Harry's balls. "Promise you won't sue me for malpractice if I just..."

Scorpius never finished his sentence. Instead of touching Harry again, Harry felt that same ghost of hot breath, only this time lower, right against his oiled sac.

"Oh fucking hell shit bugger fuck!" Harry let the expletives fly and lifted his arse just as Scorpius' tongue flicked out to touch his balls. He gripped the sides of the table, shuddered in ecstasy, and wrangled a hand down to stroke himself, because there was absolutely no way he was going to walk away from this without the best orgasm of his life. Whatever Scorpius had done during the massage, it set Harry's arousal off like fire, sparking slow and now out of control in a full on blaze of pleasure.

For a time, Scorpius continued to lick, cat-like tonguings at Harry's balls and even a bit along his perineum. Every little flick and languid lick had Harry's body twitching for more. He wanted Scorpius' face smothered between his cheeks or, better, his mouth around Harry's impossibly engorged prick, choking it down his beautiful throat. Harry pictured it easily enough, his fist tangled in Scorpius' hair, Scorpius' pointed nose pressing into the coarse, dark curls at the base of Harry's cock, Scorpius' throat tightening and loosening in undulating motions as Harry's cock head popped in and out of that tight cavern, buried to the hilt and holding.

Harry was so enrapt in the dream that he almost didn't realise when Scorpius released his hold on Harry's hips. Scorpius' fingers clenched Harry's arse cheeks instead and pried them open so hard that Harry felt the pucker of his arsehole stretching wide open, obscenely on display for Scorpius' hungry gaze. But Harry had no time to respond before Scorpius' mouth was there too, his hot little tongue jabbing into Harry, swiping along the oversensitive pucker, languidly sliding in and out.

Scorpius moaned against his arse and Harry couldn't stand it another moment. With a grunt, he bucked his hips and came with several splashes of come against the table, his arse clenching around Scorpius' tongue, which didn't give up even through Harry's orgasm. Scorpius just continued to tongue him until Harry had to collapse against the table in fear of passing out from the pleasure.

It had been years since any bloke had done that for Harry, and while Harry usually liked to be on the giving end of such practises, it was nice to receive once in a while too, especially from a bloke as attractive and talented as Scorpius.

Though Harry's euphoria didn't last long. Just knowing it was Scorpius back there, a relative stranger and his damn Healer for Merlin's sake, sent a jolt of panic through him. Harry collected his breath as best as he could and then rolled onto his side to glance up at Scorpius.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, his lips dry and his throat parched, the sound of his voice low and husky in the way it got after sex.

"Don't be," Scorpius said, and to Harry's surprise and delight, Scorpius' fingers tangled in Harry's hair, combing through it and then gripping hard. "I can think of dozens of ways you can repay me, if that's all you're worried about."

Harry groaned. He took in the exquisite flush on Scorpius' pale cheeks, the hint of a grin at his pink mouth, and the gray sparkle in his eyes as he looked down at Harry. He was a gorgeous young man, just Harry's type, and if Harry could play his cards right…

"You'd better start naming them," Harry growled, licking his lips. "Because I'm not a very patient man."

~~~

"Auror Potter, please, I need to talk to you about the Hemingford file, which—"

"I'm sorry, Gibbon, but I'm in a bit of a rush," Harry grumbled, hauling his arse towards his office at a speed that shouldn't have been possible without full use of both his legs. He still had his walking stick, but after a week with Scorpius, the pain was manageable and he was off his potion pills entirely. That didn't make him any more patient for young Auror trainees hounding him for assistance with their paperwork, but Harry supposed that hadn't been Kingsley's aim.

"Auror Potter, please," Gibbon stressed, catching Harry's arm. When Harry stopped in front of his office and glared down at the young man, he pulled his hand away like he'd been struck by lightning. "I, erm—"

"It's fine," Harry said, gesturing with his stick towards the pit of desks, one of which belonged to Gibbon. "Go finish up as much as you can, and I'll help you."

"But, Auror Potter, I—"

" _After_ my massage," Harry persisted, fixing Gibbon with a steady, somewhat menacing look. "If you think I'm an arse now, you just wait and see how I am if I don't get this massage today. Are we straight?"

"Yes, sir."

Harry softened a bit and clasped a hand on Gibbons' shoulder, nudging him towards the desks. "There you are. Promise I'll help after. One hour from now…erm, maybe two, you can never be sure how long these damn things will last."

Pushing his office door open, Harry was met with the usual scene—a massage table, oils, potions, and a beautiful blond with his hands slicked and ready to go.

Harry promptly locked the door.


End file.
